


The Boxer

by mahisquared



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Drug Use, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-20 21:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13726101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahisquared/pseuds/mahisquared
Summary: Stanley Pines has been kicked out and it's up to an older version of Ford to help him out





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Contrary to what you might think, this story is NOT going to go in the direction Remember Me went in. Two different stories. ALSO! This story is based solely on interest. So let me know if you like it! You can contact me on tumblr if you'd rather at subwaystanwich.tumblr.com

_When I left my home and my family_  
 _I was no more than a boy_  
 _In the company of strangers_  
 _In the quiet of the railway station_  
 _Running scared,_  
 _Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters_  
 _Where the ragged people go_  
 _Looking for the places_  
 _Only they would know_  
_\--The Boxer, Simon and Garfunkle_

 

_“Find him, please! You have to find him! Bring him back to me!”_

The words of a desperate mother echo in Ford's mind as he walks down the streets. He shouldn't be here, he shouldn't have done this. Playing teacher, fucking the younger version of his brother. It was a mistake. Gina Pines knew him only as Stan's favorite teacher and now...now she wanted him to find her son.

If his memory served him correctly, his mother jumped every time the home phone rang instead of her work line. She would stand by it, waiting for that call, praying for her son. Praying for his safety. And what did he do? Nothing. Sure, he was curious about his brother's whereabouts, but he was too angry to really care. He deserved whatever he got.

Now that he was older, now that he knew what Stan had gone through, he realized how much of an idiot he had been. And maybe...maybe he could turn this around, alter the past, change the future into a brighter one.

But where should he look? After he had agreed to look for Stan, though he hadn't been given much of a choice, he realized he had no idea where he might've gone. He had gone to all of Stan's favorite haunts, but the teen boy was nowhere no where be found, not even under the docks. A terrifying thought occurred to him—what if Stan had already left the state?

Ford was furious with himself. This was all his fault. If he had pulled Stan upstairs and yelled at him there, Pops wouldn't have heard and Stan would still be at home. Or maybe if he had stuck up for Stan, stood up to their father, Stan would still be at home. But the fact remained that he hadn't. And now Stan was who knows where getting into who knows what.

Lost in thought, he wasn't paying attention to where he was going, and slammed directly into someone.

“Sorry,” he said.

“No worries,” said a man's voice. It was the voice of the man who owned Stan's favorite juke joint. Stan's favorite...

“Excuse me!” Ford said as the man started walking away. “You're Billy Knight, aren't you?”

The man frowned as he turned to look at Ford. “Yeah I'm Billy,” he said. “What's it to you?”

“You know Stanley Pines,” Ford said bluntly. Billy narrowed his eyes.

“So what if I do?”

“I'm his teacher,” Ford said quickly. “I...I'm concerned about him. He hasn't been in class for weeks. Do you know where he might be?”

Billy sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “No I don't,” he said. “I did, but not anymore. Might be staying with that McCorkle girl. He was stayin' with me as long as he cleaned the dishes and helped make food. That girl asked him why he wasn't in school no more and he told her. Sad story. She felt bad. Then a day later he vanished. I'd check in with her.”

“Where does she live?”

“I don't know, do I? I'm not some kinda creep!” Billy said angrily. Ford put his hands up.

“Sorry, sorry I just...I'm sorry. I need to find her.”

“Come to the juke joint,” Billy said. “She's there every night.”

Ford nodded, glad to finally have a lead. That night, he went to the restaurant, and found Carla quickly. She was in the center of the room, tearing up the floor with, presumably, Thistle Downe, Stan's mortal enemy. 

“Excuse me!” Ford said approaching her.

“I'm not going to dance with you,” she said sniffily. Ford rolled his eyes.

“I don't want to dance with you,” Ford said. “I wanted to know if you knew where Stanley Pines is. I'm concerned about him.”

Carla stiffened and looked away. “I...I don't know,” she said quietly. 

“Yes you do,” Ford said, glaring at her. He could spot her lie easily.

“I! No I don't!” Carla said angrily. Thistle turned and glared at Ford.

“Get away from my girl,” he said, failing at his attempt to be tough.

“Not until she tells me where Stanley Pines is.”

“He's probably at The House,” Thistle said, thinking about it.

“Your house?”

“No! The House.”

“Where is this house?”

“Not tellin',” Thistle said, narrowing his eyes. “You seem like the kinda guy who's in good with the cops.”

“Is this a drug house?” Ford said, scandalized. “I have to get him out. I won't tell the police, I promise. I just need Stanley back. His mother is worried.”

Thistle thinks about it. “I'll take ya,” he says. “Come back at--”

“No. You will take me now,” Ford says in his most threatening voice. Thistle quails under his gaze and nods.

It's a half hour drive to The House, and Thistle lets him out. The one condition to this was that Ford be blindfolded the whole time so he wouldn't know how to get there. This was silly in Ford's opinion as The House would have the address right on it, but he played along.

“Thank you,” he said. Thistle nodded and drove off. Ford approached the house and knocked on the door. A grungy looking girl answered it and looked him up and down.

“Who are you?” She asked.

“I'm looking for Stanley Pines.”

“Ain't here.”

“Are you sure?”

The girl paused and tried to close the door, but Ford didn't allow her.

“Where. Is. He.”

“Some guy givin' you problems?” a voice said from far away.

“There's someone looking for Stan!” she called back.

“And I'm going to find him.” Ford muscled past her and entered The House. It was full of doped up people lying around, eyes half closed.

“Opiates,” Ford murmured, fear rising in his chest. He walked through The House until he found a small corner. And in the corner was...

“Get up,” Ford said, pulling Stan to his feet. “We're going.”

“Nooo...” Stan said as Ford dragged him along. “Don't wanna.”

“Oh well,” Ford said viciously.

“Where are you going with him?” the girl from the front door asked.

“To my house,” Ford said, glaring at her. “Where he belongs.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Why?”

Stan sat in Ford's kitchen, nursing a mug of tea. He had finally sobered up, something Ford was glad for. Stan had been this...thing. Staring into the distance, not responding. Zombie like. But now that he was better...

“Answer me!”

“Why what?” Stan said moodily, staring into his mug.

Ford had to control himself from shaking Stan by the shoulders. “Why were you high?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because from the looks of it, you were doing some sort of opiate, and that's insanely dangerous!” Ford said furiously. “Are you an addict?”

“No!” Stan said, glaring at his teacher. “I...this was my first time. I didn't have anywhere to go, so they took me in, said I could stay for a night. Then this girl offered me some of her stuff, and I thought, what the fuck, why not?”

“There are a million reasons why not!” Ford said, slamming his hands on the kitchen table, making Stan jump. “You better hope that you don't get addicted to that crap.”

“Whatever,” Stan muttered, taking another sip of his tea. “Why'd you even come and get me?”

Ford swallowed. This was something he wasn't sure how to answer. 

_Because I love you._

“Because your mother asked me to find you. And I don't think she'll be too happy to discover that you've been shooting up.”

“She wouldn't care,” Stan said, face hardening. “You're not taking me back to them.”

“Yes I am,” Ford said, sitting down across from Stan. “You need to go back home.” Stan laughed.

“My Pops ain't gonna take me back,” Stan said, rolling his eyes. “He'd just pretend to and then kick me right back out. And my brother? He don't give two shits about me.”

Ford took a steadying breath, eyes a bit wet. “I'm sure...I'm sure he cares.”

“He had the chance to stand up for me and he didn't take it. He was watching me and Pops from our window while Pops was screamin' at me. And when I begged for help, you know what he did? Closed the curtains. He coulda given me the middle finger and it woulda meant the same thing.”

“He didn't...I'm sure he didn't mean it like that. Perhaps he was afraid to get involved? Worried about incurring your father's wrath?”

“You sayin' he's a coward?” Stan asked, putting his mug down and leaning back in his chair. 

“I...no I don't think he's a coward,” Ford said. “I think that maybe he was just worried about what would happen if he got in the mix.”

“Ah. Selfish then.”

Ford made a spluttering sound but had no retort. What he had done WAS selfish. He had only been thinking about himself and what might happen to him should he get involved. 

“Look, I'm tellin' ya, they won't care.”

“Your mother _begged me_ to find you. I'm sure she cares.”

Stan shrugs and picks up his mug again, looking into its depths. “Fine. I'll see her. But I'm not livin' with them again.”

“Well, where will you stay if not there?” Ford asks, concerned.

“I could stay here,” Stan suggests, giving him a coy look. Ford raises an eyebrow.

“And what exactly is that look for?”

“I've missed you,” Stan says, and takes one last drink from his cup. He sets it down and stands up. “Have you missed me?”

“Stanley...” Ford says, exasperated. “You don't have to do this.”

“What if I want to?” Stan says, pushing Ford's chair back and getting into his lap. He puts his arms around Ford's shoulders and looks deep into his eyes.

_No_

_Don't_

_This isn't a good idea._

Ford looks away. “Stan, I think what you need right now is rest, not—mmph!” His words are cut off by a kiss, and he finds his eyes closing shut, arms wrapping around the younger man. There's something about Stan, something so addictive. He had been so unskilled at first but now? Ford was now an instrument that Stan knew exactly how to play.

Stan's hips began to move and Ford moaned into Stan's mouth. This needed to stop. Stan was looking for a distraction. That was all he was to him at that moment. But goddamn did it feel good. His plush ass rubbing against his hardening cock was enough to make him want to bend Stan over the kitchen table and fuck him senseless.

“Stan. _Stan,_ ” Ford said firmly. “No.”

Stan stopped grinding against him and stuck his bottom lip out in an adorable pout. “Why?”

“Because I need to call your mother and let her know that I have you.”

“You could do that after,” Stan whined. Ford sighed.

“No. We're doing it now.” 

Stan grumbled and got off of Ford, and Ford stood up. “What's her number?”

“Call her work line,” Stan said. “Pops or Ford won't answer that.”

Ford nodded, and picked up the phone. Stan rattled off the number, and Ford dialed it. The phone rang a few times before it finally picked up.

“Madame Theresa, psychic readings, 2 bucks a minute.”

“Hello, this is Pascal Forrester? Do you remember me? I'm calling because--”

“Are you with a boy? A dark haired boy just under 6ft, 18 years old?” the woman said, clearly trying to keep her voice under control.

“Uh. Yes?” Ford asked. Clearly she didn't want to have a frank conversation, in case she was overheard.

“Does this boy like peaches?”

“Does he what?”

“Like peaches.”

“I don't know.”

“Well ask him!” Gina Pines snapped.

“Your mom wants to know if you like peaches?” Ford asked Stan. Stan rolled his eyes.

“Tell her I like peaches.”

“Why does she--”

“I'll tell you later,” Stan said. Ford nodded and returned to the phone. 

“He says he likes peaches.” Ford said. There's a sigh of relief from the other side.

“Here's your reading: The boy needs to meet his mother. Have him meet her in the boxing ring at midnight tomorrow night. Then your uh...your dreams will come true. But only if you make sure he does. If you don't, awful things will happen to you, the spirits will make sure of it.”

“No need to threaten, I'll make sure he sees you,” Ford said. “Tomorrow at midnight. We'll see you then.”

“Pascal, eh?” Stan says as Ford hangs up the phone. 

“Yes, that's my name,” Ford says, turning to look at him. 

“You never told me your first name before,” Stan said, walking up to him, and placing a hand on his chest. “Why not?”

“It was never any of your business,” Ford said. Their eyes met, and without really thinking about it, they both moved at the same time, lips brushing up against each other.

“You've called my mom,” Stan said as they broke apart. “What's your next excuse?”

“You need to sleep,” Ford said, but kissed him again. “I need to sleep.”

“Yeah but you're not gonna make me sleep on the couch,” Stan said. “I know you're gonna let me share your bed. And once we're in bed together...”

“I hate you,” Ford said breathing hard.

Stan grinned. “I know you too well. You can't resist me.”

“I hate that you're right,” Ford grumbled. “But aren't you interested in what you mom had to say?”

“You can tell me that anytime,” Stan says, tugging off Ford's coat. “And she knows I'm okay, she probably wasn't freakin' out or anything.”

“How does she know you're okay?” Ford asked. “I never once said you were doing alright.”

“Remember how she asked ya if I liked peaches?” Stan asked, unbuttoning Ford's shirt. 

“Yes,” Ford said, watching Stan's clever fingers unbutton his shirt.

“It's a code,” Stan said. He pulled off his own shirt, and Ford pulled his off the rest of the way. “If I like peaches it means I'm okay. If I don't like peaches in means I'm in some sort of danger.”

Ford blinked at him. He didn't remember that from their childhood. “Interesting,” he said. “She taught this to your brother too?”

“Nah, just me,” Stan said, running his hands over Ford's chest. “I'm the one most likely to get in some sorta trouble. She taught it to me when she caught me sneaking out. Said if something was ever wrong somewhere I could call her and let her know in secret that I wasn't okay.”

Ford could think of a thousand ways that plan could go wrong, but decided against arguing.

“I'm glad you have that arrangement,” Ford said. “But as you can see I've run out of excuses.”

“Then let's do what we both want,” Stan says, kissing Ford's stubbly jaw line. “We'll go to bed, but we'll mess around before we sleep.”

“Fine,” Ford said. “But we've got to pretend you're sleeping on my couch when we meet up with your mother.”

“What else would I say?” Stan scoffs. “'Hey mom I'm sleeping with my teacher who happens to be a man.' Yeah that'll go over real good.”

“I'm just trying to be cautious,” Ford said, leading Stan to his bedroom. “I want to make sure she doesn't know. She'd kill me.”

“Yeah she would,” Stan said. “So, we're actually meeting up with her?”

“Yes,” Ford said, hopping onto the bed and patting the spot next to him. “Midnight tomorrow at the boxing ring.”

“What the fuck?” Stan said, looking surprised. “We coulda just met up at the juke joint or something.”

“I have a feeling she has something to say that she doesn't want overheard,” Ford says as Stan snuggles close to him. “I think--”

“Can we talk about this later?” Stan asks, palming Ford through his pants. Ford laughs.

“I forgot how horny you teenagers are.”

“Come on...sex now talk later!” Stan pleads.

“Alright then,” Ford says. “Ride me? I'm tired.”

Stan snorts and climbs on top of him. “Sure,” he murmurs into Ford's ear. “Whatever you want...Pascal.”

Ford lets out a little gasp that he knows Stan wants to hear. He doesn't want to hear his fake name, he wants to hear Stan use his real name. Stanford. But that's not a possibility. So he has to act for Stan, something he doesn't like doing. He doesn't want to fake pleasure, especially since he never actually has to. But then again, Stan never knew the name he was going by.

Stan nuzzles his neck, and Ford pulls Stan's pants and boxers part way down.

“Wanna see me?” Stan whispers. Ford nods vigorously, and Stan grins. He sits up and pulls his pants and boxers off, revealing his gorgeous cock. Dusky pink and thick as they come. Ford stares at it, his own cock growing hard at the sight. He nearly wants to change his mind and ask Stan to fuck the life out of him. The stretch he receives from his brother's cock is incredible.

“Pants,” he says, and they both fight to be the one to take off Ford's pants. Ford scrambles for the lube he keeps in his drawer, and squirts some on his fingers. Stan bends forwards and Ford reaches around, sliding slicked up fingers inside of him. Stan moans prettily as he's stretched, and Ford can hardly stand it, he needs Stan now.

“Ready?” he asks. Stan nods and sits up. He positions Ford's cock exactly how he wants it and slides onto it with only a small amount of difficulty.

“God you're tight,” Ford moans, eyes flickering closed.

“Good,” Stan says. “But open your damn eyes.”

Ford laughs at this and does as asked. He knows Stan wants to put on a bit of a show before he begins to pleasure himself. He watches as Stan rocks back and forth on his cock, moaning a bit louder than necessary, touching his body as he does so.

“You're so sexy,” Ford says, watching him with soft eyes. Stan smiles and leans forward a bit, putting his hands on either side of Ford. He lifts up a bit and then slams back down. The air is soon filled with their cries of pleasure, calling out eacho ther's names, taking the lord's name in vain.

Ford is not proud that he cums first, but Stan doesn't seem to mind. He begins to stroke himself, which is nearly enough to get Ford back up again. He cums in an arc, eyes rolling back, neck arching as he calls out in pure pleasure. He collapses onto Ford, getting them both sticky with cum.

“God that was good,” Stan pants. Ford strokes his hair.

_I love you._

“Yeah it was. Now let's go shower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madame Theresa is a nod to the psychic Theresa Caputo, and Pascal a nod to the famous mathematician Blaise Pascal.


	3. Chapter 3

Ford's eyes flickered open, the light streaming through his window his alarm clock. He turns his head to find Stan slumbering, clearly very tired. Ford sits up, plants a kiss on his forehead and begins to get ready for the day. He has to be at school soon, he is still a teacher after all.

A shower and some coffee later, Ford heads back into his room, where he finds Stan rubbing his eyes.

“You're awake.”

“Mmhm,” Stan said. “What're you doin'?”

“Heading to work,” Ford said. “What do you plan to do all day?”

“I dunno,” Stan said shrugging. “Wait for you to come back?”

“That sounds incredibly boring,” Ford said. “Why don't you go do something else? Perhaps you could go to the beach and enjoy the sun.”

Stan made a face. “I don't wanna go there. Too many memories.”

Ford looked down and sighed. Of course. “Well as long as you don't do any more drugs, the day is yours. Please be sure to come back. Your mother will kill me if I don't bring you to her. She threatened me over the phone.”

Stan laughed. “No she didn't!”

“Yes she did,” Ford said. “So you'd better be back.”

“I won't run on ya,” Stan said, “I promise.”

“Good,” Ford said. “I shall see you this afternoon.”

The day seemed to drag by slowly, each class taking an eternity to finish up. When he finally had his younger self in his class, he had to control the urge to grab him by the shoulder and demand to know if he knew where Stan was. And if he didn't, which he wouldn't, he would give that teenager the tongue lashing of his life.

But what good would that really do? He knew that his younger self was infuriated with Stan, and didn't care what he was up to. Stan would be fine, he knew that teen thought. He would stay in Glass Shard Beach. And what's the worst that could happen? Get high on opiates apparently, but his younger self would not have jumped to that conclusion.

Ford was quite worried that Stan would not be home when he got there, but his fears were unfounded. Stan was in the dining room, eating a sandwich.

“Helping yourself, are you?” Ford said with a smile. Stan looked up at him.

“I don't got money to buy my own food,” Stan said. “Thought it'd be fine.”

“It is,” Ford said. “I was simply teasing. So how has your day been?”

“Fine,” Stan said. “I just stayed here. Don't have a key to your place. Didn't want to leave it unlocked.”

“Ah,” Ford said, internally kicking himself. “Well I'll have to make a copy of it then so you can come and go as you please.”

“So. Tonight,” Stan said, putting his sandwich down on its plate. “I'm...I'm worried Ma will try and make me come home.”

“She might,” Ford said, hanging up his coat in a nearby closet. “Do you really not want to go back?”

“I toldja, I can't!” Stan said, glaring at him. “Pops will pretend to take me in, just to please ya, keep me there for a few days and then put me on the street again!”

What Stan said was probably true, knowing their father. “Well,” Ford said, adjusting the collar of his turtleneck, “I'll be there, and I'll stick up for you.”

“Okay,” Stan said. “You promise?”

“Of course.”

The rest of the day passed fairly quickly, helped by a rather long make out session that Ford started. Stan just seemed so sad, and being wrapped up in Ford's arms seemed to be one of the only things that cheered him up. The other thing was taking a ride in his car, so they did that as well, driving to all of their favorite spots. A few places made Stan a bit upset as they reminded him strongly of Ford's younger self.

“We can make new memories here,” Ford said, squeezing Stan's hand. And there it was—a genuine smile. Even before Ford had realized his feelings for Stan, he had always thought that Stan had the best smile out of anyone in the universe. It was warm and truly happy, his eyes sparkling whenever he did.

“What kinda memories?” Stan asked.

“Any kind that you'd like.”

They spent most of the time holding hands and talking, Stan asking questions about Ford's life. Ford had to spin interesting tales, and hoped that he'd remember all of the details of these lies, in case Stan ever brought them up again. Only once did they have a kiss in his car, and Ford liked it that way. It was important to him that they have a true relationship, not just one built on sex. He had always craved that, and now he had it.

One of the questions Stan had was about Ford's hands. He had never brought it up before now, probably because he didn't want to seem rude. Ford's younger self had brought it up with him the first day of class, happy to see someone like him who was doing well for himself.

“Were you ever teased?”

“About the extra digit?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course,” Ford said. “People can be cruel, especially when they're young. In college, people were simply curious, never said anything rude. Or at least, never said anything they thought was rude. But now, nobody says a thing. And I like that.”

“They...they're hard to see,” Stan said, picking up Ford's hand and looking at it.

“They remind you of Stanford,” Ford said.

“Yeah,” Stan said. “I think of him when I see it. Not really a...common thing.”

“No, it's quite rare,” Ford said. “Surprising really that the two of us came together.”

“I think I like yours better though,” Stan said after a few moments. Ford's eyebrows shot up.

“Really?”

“Yeah. “'Cause I like you better. You're nice to me.”

There was a pause, and Ford thinks hard. When wasn't he nice to Stanley?

“He ignores me,” Stan said. “Treats me like I'm less than. Sure he can be nice. And I still love him, but...I dunno.”

“I'm sorry,” Ford said quietly.

“Not yer fault,” Stan said. The sky was getting dark around them, and Stan put Ford's hand down.

“What time is it?”

“9:00,” Ford said. “I suppose we should be getting back.”

Ford couldn't help but think about Stan's words as they rode back. Had he really treated Stan like scum on the bottom of his shoe? Perhaps he had. Perhaps that was why Stan was always trying hard to get his attention, getting in his spotlight. Maybe...maybe Stan just wanted him to notice him. How had he missed that?

Some dinner and a shower later (Ford insisted that Stan be presentable for their mother) the two of them headed out to the boxing ring. But when they got there, they noticed something unusual. There were a lot of cars parked around it, as if something was going inside the building that should be empty.

“What's going on?” Stan asked as they got out of the car.

“I have no idea,” Ford said. They walked up to the building, and could hear some kind of commotion inside, confusing them even more. Stan bravely opened the doors and...

In the boxing ring, situated in the middle of the room, were two men, beating the hell out of each other. Around the ring was a cheering crowd, shouting out names, obscenities, and words of encouragement. On the outskirts of the ring stood a tall woman with dark hair and a red dress, giant hoops dangling from her ears.

“There she is!” Stan said, pointing at her. The two men approached her.

“Mrs. Pines?” Ford said, all business. Gina turned and gasped as she looked at Stan.

“BABY!” she cried out, and enveloped him in a tight hug.

“Ma,” Stan said, trying to get away, “Get off! What are you—Ma, are you crying?”

Indeed she was. Tears streamed from her eyes as she hugged her son, and Ford felt as though he might start crying as well. He hadn't known how much she missed Stan, how much she cared.

Finally, she released him, and cupped his face in her hands. “Oh Stanley,” she said, “I'm so glad you're okay. You thinner, have you been eating?”

“Not really,” Stan admitted. Gina's face fell, and Ford stepped in.

“He is now that I've taken him in.”

“Oh good,” Gina said. “I've been worried sick.”

“I'm okay,” Stan said, pulling away. “I promise.”

“So Mrs. Pines--”

“Gina, please.”

“Alright then. Gina. Why have you asked us to come to this place?”

“What?” Gina asked. There had been a particularly loud uproar of cheers and cries of disappointment as one of the men fell onto his back. The referee began to count.

“I said, why have you asked us to come here?”

Gina took a deep breath in and looked at Stan. “Stanley,” she said, “You've always been a good boxer. I thought you might've come here, to live with the owner of this place. The owner said you hadn't been here, but that you might be fightin' at night in the underground ring! He knew I wouldn't tell, 'cause he has plenty of dirt on me.”

“Wait what?” Stan said, eyebrows raising.

“Don't you worry about it now,” Gina said, waving it away. “I came to the fights every night, and you never showed. But I noticed one thing. The winners make tons of money from the betters. I knew that once I found ya, I had to tell you about it. You could box here!”

Stan's eyes grew wide, but Ford shook his head.

“Gina that's far too dangerous.”

“He can box like no other!” Gina said, puffing out her chest. “You've never even seen him! He could make money, live on his own, provide for himself! He's gotta try!”

“He doesn't have to do anything!”

“I want to.”

Ford whips his head around and stares at Stan. “You what?”

“I wanna try. I can do it. I'm good.”

“You could get killed! Look at their faces!” Ford said, pointing at the men in the ring.

“Don't care,” Stan said. “I've gotta try. I could bring in a fortune, prove Pops wrong!”

Gina beamed at him and Ford sighed. He knew there was nothing he could do to stop this.

“One match,” Ford says. “We'll see how you do.”

Stan grins. “Will you come to see me Ma?”

“Of course I will, baby,” she said, and pulled him into a tight hug. “Of course I will.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was half asleep while writing this one, so I apologize if it shows. A bit of a filler chapter, but get ready for the big event in chapter 5!

“You do understand the dangers of underground fighting, correct?” Ford asked Stan, popping some bread into the toaster. “You do understand that your life could be at risk?”

“Yeah yeah,” Stan said, rolling his eyes. “Y'already gave me the speech last night, no need to give it again. I get it. It's dangerous. But so what?”

“So what? So what? You could die Stanley!”

“Stop being dramatic,” Stan said, leaning back in his chair. “I ain't gonna die.”  
“  
But you could!” Ford said, frustrated, as he poured them both some coffee. “Who knows what kind of rules they have in place at that ring, if any. Maybe it's a fight to the death!”

“Why are you freakin' out so bad?” Stan asked, accepting the mug of coffee from Ford. 

“Because I care about you,” Ford said. “You are important to me.”

Stan blushed. “Yer just sayin' that.”

“No I'm not,” Ford said pulling up a chair next to him. “I do care for you.”

“Why?” Stan asked. “It's not like there's anything great about me. Not like with Ford. I could see you missin' Ford if he got beat to shit. He's--”

“An idiot,” Ford finished for Stan. Stan's eyes went big, and Ford grinned at him. “Your brother, smart though he may be, is an idiot. To be fine with you leaving? To not stand up for you? Total moron.”

Stan snorted. “I appreciate what yer tryin' ta say, but...he's not a moron. He's a genius. Brains too big for this town.”

“He might be smart,” Ford said, standing as his toast popped, “But only is concerned for himself. I plan to talk to him today.”

“Why?” Stan asked, frowning.

“I want to have a word with him about you.”

“Go ahead,” Stan said, crossing his arms. “He'll just tell you how glad he is I'm gone.”

“Why are you so sure he's happy you're gone?” Ford asked, bringing his plate of toast over to the table.

Stan sighed. “I love Ford, really I do. I'd die for him without even thinkin' 'bout it. But he's...this year...he's been so mean to me. Wasn't always this way.”

Ford swallowed, and stared at his toast. He knew he was in for some hard truths, and he wasn't sure he was ready to hear them.

“I mean I guess it really started when we started high school,” Stan said, staring into his mug. “Started winning big prizes for science fair projects. Was on the mathletes team and the science bowl team. You know what those are, right?”

“Competitions for math and science knowledge. I'm a teacher, a science teacher much less, of course I know.”

“Right. Well. He won nationals each year for both teams AND for the science fair. He stopped...stopped paying attention to me. Which sounds stupid, like, shouldn't I be glad for him? Happy he's doin' so well? But it...it came at a price. He wouldn't talk to me, was fuckin' snide to me about everything. Would only seek comfort after he'd been bullied. Started as cuddling, then turned to kisses and sex and I took him up on it because fuck, it was attention! It was something! But I'm just an object to him.”

Ford's eyes were wet and he stood up fast. He practically knocked his chair over as he rushed to Stan and enveloped him into a hug.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That he did that,” he added quickly.

“It's okay,” Stan mumbled.

“It's not okay,” Ford said firmly, letting him go. “He should've treated you better. You're worth it.”

“Am I though?” Stan asked. “Pops always said I was good for nothin'. Ford never straight up said it, but I know he thought it...everyone at school said it, teachers, students, everyone. Ma probably just feels bad. You probably just feel bad.”

“I do not think you're worth it because I feel sorry for you,” Ford said, a burning intensity in his eyes. “You are worth it. You are enough. Maybe you're not good at school but you are good at other things.”

“Only thing I have is punching,” Stan said with a laugh.

“Exactly!” Ford said, throwing his hands up into the air. “Look, I don't approve of your underground boxing, but if...if it shows you that you matter than do it. But I WILL intervene if it looks like someone is going to harm you too badly.”

“I don't need a guardian angel.”

“I'm not here to be that,” Ford said. “But I don't want you to be hurt. I love you.”

“You what?” Stan said, eyes wide.

“I...forget I said that,” Ford said, whipping around. “I need to go to work.”

“Mr. Forrester...Pascal, don't...it's too early! You still have an hour before school starts!”

“I have something to do,” Ford said, rushing out of the dining room.

“Wait a fucking second!” Stan said, stomping after him. “You can't drop the L-bomb on me and just leave! Did you mean it? Did you?”

Ford grips the doorknob as Stan approaches him, but says nothing.

“Are you making love to me or using me like Ford did?” Stan asks desperately. Ford lets out a tiny gasp.

“Stanley...”

“Tell me! Am I just a notch on your belt? I need to know!”

“You. Are important to me,” Ford said, turning the knob. “But you need to forget what I said. It complicates things.”

“Why? I'm not your student anymore,” Stan says, putting his hand on Ford's shoulder. “You can love me.”

Ford gripped the knob tightly, his knuckles white. Then, he turned around and grabbed Stan and kissed him fiercely. The two grabbed at each other kissing hard. While it wasn't the best kiss in the world, it carried weight, meaning. They broke apart, and stared into each other's eyes, both searching for answers.

“I meant it,” Ford finally says. “But I can't. You're too young.”

“Not too young to fuck the life out of me.”

“That's different,” Ford said, letting go. “That's for fun. Mutual pleasure. But not love. No emotions attached. But when you bring love into it...it complicates things. I'm invested in you and your life now. You don't want an old man feeling that way about you.”

“Yes I do,” Stan breathes. “We can keep it secret, nobody gots ta know.”

“We'll talk later.”

Stan nodded and let Ford go. Ford was consumed with thought about their conversation, kicking himself for letting loose that he loved Stan. But wasn't this what he wanted? A true relationship? But now that it was thrust upon him, he realized he'd changed too much. What would the future be like now?

Ford watched Ford closely in class, and was irked that Ford seemed to be doing just fine without Stan. Shouldn't he look at least a little bit sad?

“Stanford,” Ford called out to his younger self. Stanford turned.

“Yes Mr. Forrester?”

“I wish to speak with you.”

Stanford approached him, looking confused.

“Is something wrong?”

“I just wanted to know if you knew if your brother was alive or dead.” Ford said casually. Stanford blinked.

“I'm sure he's alive,” Stanford said stiffly.

“But do you know?” Ford asked, leaning against his desk. “Do you even care? Or does his life mean that little to you?”

“If you're suggesting that I wish death upon Stanley, then I--” Stanford started off hotly, but Ford cut across him.

“You haven't looked for him, have you? Haven't thought about him, haven't even wondered where he is. He could be dead, but who cares right? Your school was more important.”

“I am leaving,” Stanford said angrily, and turned on his heel.

“He is alive,” Ford called after him, and Stanford froze. “Tonight. Boxing ring. Midnight. Wish to see him? Be there.”

“Whatever,” Stanford said, but Ford knew he'd be seeing the boy tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

_All of the dirt you've been throwin' my way,_  
 _It ain't so hard to take, that's right._  
 _'Cause I know one day you'll be screamin' my name,_  
 _And I'll just look away, that's right._  
 _Just go ahead and hate on me and run your mouth so everyone can hear,_  
 _Hit me with the worst you got, and knock me me down,_  
 _Baby I don't care._  
 _Keep it up and soon enough you'll figure out_  
 _You wanna be, you wanna be, a loser like me!_  
_\--Glee_

 

“I'm still worried,” Ford grumbled as the two men got into Stan's car. 

“Don't be,” Stan said. “It's gonna be fine.”

“Do you even _have_ boxing gloves?”

“Didn't you see? None of the guys in the ring had gloves on,” Stan said casually. Ford's eyes went wide.

“Turn around.”

“What?” Stan said, glancing over at him. “We're almost there. If you left something at your house you're gonna have to wait.”

“It's not that,” Ford said, voice hard. “I cannot allow you to do bare knuckle boxing.”

“'Allow me?' Stan said, giving him a look. “I'm grown, Pascal. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

“You could break your hands! You could...isn't it more dangerous?” Ford asked, panic in his voice.

“No idea. This was already gonna be dangerous though,” Stan said, parking the car. “Who gives a shit if there's a little more involved?”

“ _I_ care,” Ford said, as they got out of the car and approached the building. “This is a ridiculous idea. I can't even _believe_ that your mother suggested this.”

“It'll be fine.”

“Why do you think that?” Ford asked furiously as they opened the door. They had come a bit early, so nobody was in the ring yet. There were a few tough looking men sitting around and chatting, one of them laughing boisterously at something one of the others had said.

“I'm good,” Stan said. “Now give me a sec, I need to sign up.”

Ford followed close behind Stan as he walked over to a bored looking man who was significantly less fit than the people near him.

“Hey,” Stan said. The man looked up.

“Fights aren't starting for an hour,” the man said. Stan shook his head.

“Not here to watch. I wanna fight.”

“You?” the man said incredulously. “We don't let kids fight.”

“I'm 18!” Stan said, annoyed. The man eyed him and then looked at Ford.

“I can vouch for him,” Ford finally said. The man nodded.

“Fine. You're in. Name?”

“Stan Pines.”

The man pulled out a piece of paper and scrawled something down on it. “You'll be in the second round. Hey Johnny!” he called out, looking at the men. “You're gonna fight this kid insteada Jacob.”

“Thought kids--”

“I'm 18!” Stan said, stamping his foot. The men all laughed. Johnny grinned at him.

“Alright,” he said. “You wanna try your luck? Go for it. But I've beaten everyone 'cept Jacob. And I'll beat you too.”

“We'll see,” Stan said, balling his hands into fists. 

The men laughed once more, and Ford grabbed Stan by the shoulder. “Let's go,” he says.

“Oh you got daddy here to protect you?” one of the men jeer. “Real tough.”

Stan turned around, angry, and walked away. Ford hurried behind him.

“Did you see that man?” Ford asked as Stan found a seat in the stands. “He's huge!”

“Everyone's got a weak spot,” Stan growled. “I'm gonna find his. I'm gonna beat him.”

“How?” Ford asked, looking worried. “Have you even beat anyone bigger than you?”

“Yes,” Stan said. “Several times. Beat Crampelter.”

“Crampelter is _barely_ bigger than you,” Ford said, narrowing his eyes. “These men are significantly bigger and tougher--”

“You don't believe in me do you?” Stan said viciously, crossing his arms. “You don't think I can do this.”

“It's not a matter of believing in you,” Ford said. “It's simple logic.”

“It's always logic and math and whatever else with you AND Ford!” Stan burst out. “I can do this! Have a little faith!”

Ford turned away, annoyed. He dealt in facts, absolutes. Blindly groping into the darkness and hoping that what he wanted would be true was not his style. He wanted to leave, to force Stan to go home. 

They sat in sullen silence for awhile, both irritated with the other. Finally, Ford spoke.

“I have a deal for you,” he said. Stan looked at him.

“What is it?”

“If you win this round, you may keep boxing. But if you lose, you stop altogether.”

Stan looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “You're only sayin' that 'cause you think I'm gonna lose.”

“So you won't take me up.”

“Fine,” Stan said. People were filling up the seats near them, and Stan stood up. “But if I win, you can't complain anymore.”

“Deal.”

“I should go sit with the other fighters now.”

Ford watched as Stan walked over to the group of boxers. This time it didn't appear that they were taunting him. Stan took off his shirt, and one of the men handed him a roll of...something. It became clear after a few seconds that it was athletic tape. Stan was wrapping his hands with it. It appeared that he knew exactly what he was doing, which made Ford wonder if Stan had to do this even when he wore gloves. Ford had dropped out of boxing when they were younger, so he hadn't really learned much about the sport.

He was so wrapped up with watching Stan that he didn't even notice that someone was trying to talk to him.

“Mr. Forrester! Can you hear me?”

“What?” Ford said. He turned to the side and saw that Stanford was sitting next to him. He blinked.

“You came.”

“Of course,” Stanford said stiffly. “I was sure you'd be here and I had some questions.”

“Such as?”

“How did you know Stan was boxing here?”

“Because he told me,” Ford said as the first round of boxers entered the ring. Stanford's eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean he told you?”

“He's been staying with me.”

Stanford let out a barking noise which was probably intended to be a laugh. “Of course he is.”

“What does that mean?” Ford asked, confused.

“He always _claimed_ he never had never had a crush on you, but I knew it was a lie. He likes you. Of course he'd run to you. And you would take him in. He's a cute young thing after all.”

Ford glared at him. Had he always been this much of a rude child?

“You sound jealous.”

“I can assure you that I am not. I'm glad yours and my relationship dissolved with Stan gone. Being with a teacher is inadvisable. As for Stan, our coupling was a mistake. I know that now. He cared only for himself. Did he even tell you what happened?”

“He ruined your science fair exhibit on accident, you took it hard and--”

“On accident? Accident? It was definitely on purpose,” Ford said waspishly. “All he wanted was for us to go sailing. Didn't even care about me.”

“Did you care about him?” Ford fired back. 

“Of course I did!” Stanford said, scandalized. “What are you suggesting?”

“From what Stan has said, you were cruel to him, you used him for your own satisfaction.”

“Oh and what do you do?” Stanford asked. “He's your little boy toy, a pretty thing to hang on your arm and warm your bed at night.”

“That's not true!” Ford shouted, causing a few people to stare at him in alarm. “He means more to me than that!”

“Whatever,” Stanford said, turning his attention to the ring.

“Why don't you just leave,” Ford said. “You're not here to see him. You're here because you knew I would be.”

“You flatter yourself,” Stanford said. “I did say I was here to ask you some questions, but I'm also here to see Stanley. Make sure he's okay.”

“He's fine.” Ford said.

“Then why is he doing underground boxing?” Ford asked. “Clearly you're not providing if he's looking for money in such a way.”

“He's not my boyfriend, he can't stay with me forever.” Ford said. “He needs to save up.”

“So why couldn't he just work at the local grocery store?” Stanford asked. “Why here?”

“Because he thinks it's the only thing he's good at. He believes he has nothing else,” Ford said with a deep sigh.

“Truly?” Stanford asked.

“Yes.”

“He's good with people,” Stanford said. “Customer service would be great for him.”

“I'll suggest it,” Ford said, watching as one man in the ring was dragged out of the ring, clearly unconscious.

“NEXT UP!” shouted the announcer, “JOHNNY FILLION AND STAN PINES!”

“It's him,” both Fords said in unison. Their eyes were glued to the scene in front of them as Stan and Johnny walked into the ring.

Johnny was an impressive figure, large and intimidating. He didn't have rippling muscles or a six pack, but he was solid and stocky, with large hands and thick arms. Stan looked positively tiny in comparison.

“FIGHT!”

Johnny took the first swing, and Stan expertly dodged it. Stan got in a few hits, and then a resounding crack filled the air as Johnny's next punch connected. Stanford winced from beside Ford.

The fight seemed to go on forever. Blood dripped from Stan's nose, and the tape on his knuckles was a tiny bit red. Johnny seemed absolutely flabbergasted every time got back up. It was as if he was one of those punching dolls that you could never knock down.

Johnny let out a laugh as Stan got back up for the millionth time, and that was when Stan cracked him straight in the jaw. Johnny stumbled back, and Stan hit him again and again until finally, Johnny fell to the ground.

“TEN! NINE! EIGHT!”

The whole crowd began to count down, and finally, they all reached zero, and Johnny sat up. But it was too late. The crowd began to roar, and Stan grinned. He looked terrible, but he had won.

“Goddamnit,” Ford muttered under his breath. Now he had to let Stan keep doing these.

Stan went to collect his winnings, and Ford ran to greet him, Stanford close behind.

“You did it!” Ford said, giving Stan a hug.

“I toldja,” Stan said.

“Hey kid.”

Stan turned around to see Johnny behind him, a crooked smile on the man's face.

“I underestimated you. You're good. You gonna be here tomorrow?”

“You know it!” Stan said happily.

“Good,” Johnny said. “I could never make it as a real boxer, but you? You got skills. I got a friend who tried to coach me but...I was never good enough. Gonna bring him tomorrow. If he likes you...maybe he can get you into some _real_ boxing. Not this shit.”

Stan's eyes went wide. “You're shitting me.”

“No guarantees,” Johnny said. “He might think you're not good enough. But I think you got a solid chance. You could do amateur stuff. But you need a coach. We'll see.”

Johnny walked away and Stan turned to Ford. “Did you hear that? Maybe I can do real stuff!”

“That would be great!” Ford said, giving him a gentle smile.

“Stanley, it would be better for you to do that than this. This is too dangerous.”

Stan looked over to see Stanford standing there. His eyes narrowed.

“I'm tired Pascal,” Stan said, turning away. “Let's go home.”

Ford smirked at a surprised Stanford.

“Stanley!” Stanford shouted at his twin, but Stan didn't respond, he just kept walking.

“What did you expect after how you treated him?” Ford said to Stanford. 

“He...he ignored me!” Stanford said, shocked.

“I think an apology is in order.”

“Me? Apologize to _him?_ After what he did to me?”

“Think about it,” Ford said, turning away. As he walked after Stan, he began to wonder what had caused this change in Stan. This was not the Stan he had previously known. This was a completely different animal, and Ford wasn't sure if he should be concerned or not.


	6. Chapter 6

“I still can't believe I won!” Stan said excitedly, clutching his paper sack full of cash tightly as they entered the house. “I thought I was a goner!”

“I did too,” Ford admitted. “I was worried.”

“About little old me?” Stan said, setting his bag down on the dining room table.

“Yes,” Ford said. “And I think your brother was too.” 

There was a stony silence in between them, and Stan turned away, no longer looking happy. 

“I'm going to go take a shower. Get this blood off of me.”

“Stan. Stanley!” Ford said, following Stan. “We need to talk about your reaction to your brother.”

“Why?” Stan asked taking his shirt off and letting it drop to the bathroom floor. He walked over and turned the water on. “I don't wanna talk 'bout him.”

“I thought you missed him,” Ford asked carefully as Stan unbuttoned his fly.

“I do miss him,” Stan admitted, stepping out of his jeans and dropping his boxers. “It's just...I'm just...” he sighed. “I couldn't handle it. I couldn't handle seeing him there. What would I say? Already apologized, and he didn't accept it. What else is there to say?”

Ford leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. “Perhaps he'll apologize to you.”

“For what?” Stan asked.

“Everything.”

Stan snorted. “Not likely.” He turned his gaze towards Ford and then raised an eyebrow. “What're you lookin' at?”

“You.”

“Not my face.”

“Can you blame me?”

Stan laughed and turned around, heading towards the shower. “You still looking?”

“Well I have a spectacular view,” Ford said, entering the bathroom. Stan hopped into the bathroom and turned around before closing the curtain. 

“Dirty old man.”

“Excuse me?” Ford said, sitting on the edge of the tub. “So when you practically _demand_ I have sex with you it's fine, but when I look at your ass, I'm a dirty old man?”

“Maybe.”

“You're ridiculous.”

“You know, you could've said no,” Stan said.

“Would you have taken it for an answer?”

“What kinda person do you think I am?” Stan asked, sounding hurt. “Of course I woulda!”

“You were very persistent,” Ford said.

“Well I had to try my best, right? Sex with you is...god it's good.” 

“Better than with your brother?”

“Hmm,” Stan said, thinking about it. “I...technically yeah. You're better. It's complicated.”

“You love him,” Ford says. “And he loves you. Emotions have never been a part of sex for us. When emotions get involved it changes.”

“But emotions _are_ involved with us,” Stan said, shutting off the water. “You love me.”

Ford let out an annoyed huff. “Yes, but you do not. So it's different.”

“I never said I didn't love you,” Stan said, pushing the shower curtain aside. Ford turned, and got a face full of cock. He stood up, blushing.

“What uh...what do you mean?”

“I mean that I never said that I didn't love you,” Stan said, stepping out and grabbing a towel. “I feel like I made it clear.”

“Well you didn't. Not to me at least,” Ford said, face flaming. “I...don't you love Ford?”

“I do,” Stan said, wrapping the towel around his waist. “But I love you more.”

“No,” Ford said, slightly panicked. “I'm an old man! You can't--”

“But I do,” Stan said, placing his hands on Ford's chest. “You love me. Why can't I love you?”

Ford had nothing to say to that. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around Stan, and Stan smiled.

“Let me love you,” he murmured. Ford could feel himself getting choked up as Stan tilted his head up and gently kissed him.

“Okay,” Ford finally said. “Okay.”

Stan took one of Ford's hands in his and lead him out of the bathroom into Ford's bedroom. Stan flopped on the bed and pulled him on top of him, surprising Ford.

“You told me you love me, now show me.”

“Stanley,” Ford said firmly, “Sex and love are two different things.”

“But they can be attached,” Stan said quietly. “I...I want to know what it's like. With you.”

“Stanley.”

“It could be a reward. For winning.”

Ford laughed at that and then kissed him hard. “I cannot deny that I want you,” Ford said, moving them both further onto the bed, in a more comfortable position. “But you must realize that sex and love--”

“I get it, okay? Not the same thing. But we love each other right? So it's different.”

“It is,” Ford said softly. Slowly, he opened Stan's towel. “We've never done it like this before.”

“We've done missionary before.”

“Stanley, you know what I mean.”

“Never done it with feelings attached.”

“Correct,” Ford said softly, taking Stan into his hand. Gently he began to stroke. Stan let out a pretty little moan, closing his eyes. Ford almost sighed. He shouldn't be doing this. He should be rejecting Stanley, lie and tell him that he didn't really mean it, or at the least, tell Stanley that he wasn't allowed to love him. Why on Earth was he allowing this?

_Because you're lonely_

No that wasn't quite it.

_Because he's lonely, and you love everything about him_

That was closer to the truth. Stanley needed someone, and here he was. Someone Stanley trusted. Someone who had admitted that he loved him. And how badly did Stanley need that? Had Ford ever said that to Stanley when he was younger? Ford wracked his brains but couldn't remember. That didn't mean it hadn't happened, but perhaps it didn't happen often. 

_Stop it,_ Ford thought as he took Stanley into his mouth. _Reject him!_

But he couldn't now. He couldn't, especially not when Stan came down his throat, professing his love to...

Pascal.

Ugh.

Ford was so close to saying “Actually, my name is Stanford, isn't that hilarious? How about you call me Ford.” But that would be too painful for Stan. To call out the name of Ford's younger self...it would kill him.

And god, now he was in Stan, gently moving inside of him, kissing his neck, murmuring his love. He needed it as much as Stan did because in the future...in the future he did not have Stan. He simply lusted after him. In the future, they weren't acknowledging what had happened back when they were teens. But now he could tell him, now he could be honest, open.

But as Pascal.

As this stupid name, as this stupid person. Why had he done this? Why had he jumped to the past?

Ford gasped as he came, and moaned out an apology. Stan had not cum.

“It's okay, I already...ohhh...” Stan moaned as Ford pulled out and began to stroke him. 

They had never had gentle sex before, never made love.

And now that they had done it...now that they had said it...everything was different now.

* * *

Ford was busy. He had decided to stay a little later to do some grading. Ford didn't particularly want to do grading of school work at home. He wanted to spend as much time with Stanley as he could. As he was marking a paper with an A+, he heard his door open. Damn it. Why hadn't he locked it.

“Hello?” Ford said looking up.

“Hello Mr. Forrester,” Stanford said in the tone of a business man greeting a client. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Ford said. “I am grading papers at the moment, so if you don't mind...”

“I have something to say.”

“Stanford I just said--”

“I know what you said!” Stanford said, annoyed. “But I need to ask you something!”

“Fine,” Ford said, putting down his red pen, “What is it?”

“What are you wanting me to apologize for?”

“To Stanley?” Ford asked.

“No to the Queen of England. Yes to Stanley!”

Ford closed his eyes and breathed out hard through his nose. It was difficult seeing how much of an asshole he had been as a young man.

“Do you really not understand?” Ford asked, leaning forwards. “You've been mean to him, only showing him love and caring when you need it most. He's fed up with you, upset with you. You need to say that you're sorry and maybe he'll come around.”

“I've never been mean to him,” Stanford snapped. Ford laughed.

“Well he certainly thinks you have been.”

“He's wrong!”

“Stanley's feelings have been hurt by you. You don't get to decide if he's right or wrong,” Ford said smoothly. “You need to apologize for hurting his feelings, and maybe try and figure out _why_ his feelings were hurt.”

“Well when am I even supposed to talk to him?” Stanford said moodily, crossing his arms. 

“I would normally say to come home with me, but I'm staying late today. Come to the fights tonight. Speak to him before he goes on.”  
“Fine,” Ford said. “I'll be there.”

* * *

“He's back?” Stan said shocked, staring as Stanford entered the building, looking around at the crowd. 

“Yes,” Ford said. “I uh...I suggested he come.”

“Why?” Stan asked bitterly, pulling his athletic tape out of his pocket. He began to wrap his hands.

“Because you two need to speak.”

“I don't wanna.”

“Stanley, don't be a child,” Ford said, annoyed. “Speak with him.”

Stanford finally spotted them and approached.

“Stanley,” he said. “I must speak with you.”

Stan said nothing.

“Are you planning on ignoring me once more?” Stanford said, irritated.

“What do ya want?” Stan asked, looking up.

“I want...Mr. Forrester said that I've upset you in some way. And I wanted to apologize.”

“What?” Stan asked, eyes narrowing. “Upset me in 'some way?' You don't even know what you're sorry for?”

“I've hurt your feelings and I wish to apologize,” Stanford said. “Do you accept it?”

“No,” Stan said heatedly. “No! And it's because you got no idea what you're sorry for!”

“When someone apologizes you accept it!” Stanford said, scandalized. “That's just basic manners!”

“You told me sorry wasn't good enough when I apologized 'bout your science project!” Stan practically bellowed. “So where's the basic manners there?”

“You ruined my future!” Stanford snapped.

“Well you ruined my LIFE!” Stan fired back. “Made me think I was a dumb idiot who ain't got no future! Well guess what? I gotta boxing future now! So fuck you! Thinkin' I'm good for nothing.”

“I don't think you're good for nothing!” Stanford said, taking a step closer to Stan. Stan took a step back, glaring at him.

“I don't believe ya,” Stan said. “I don't believe ya for one second!”

Ford watched the scene play out, utterly shocked. This was not his Stan. This was somebody else. He'd meddled with the past and turned them against each other. What had he done?

“Boys--” Ford tried to interrupt, and they both turned and glared at him.

“Don't 'boys' me!” Stan said, frustrated. “I'm grown! Not a boy anymore. Look, I gotta go get ready. See you later Pascal.”

“And me?” Stanford asked.

“Who cares?” Stan said, and walked away in a huff.

“You said it would work,” Stanford said, voice wobbling. “You said he'd come around.”

“I said _maybe_ he'd come around,” Ford said, voice hard. “I will talk with him. But you need to think. Think about how you treated him. And then apologize for specific things. That's what he needs. Not some apology that sounds like you don't even mean it.”

“I'm going home,” Stanford said.

“That,” Ford said, “Is probably for the best.” 

Ford walked away and found a seat with a good view. Hopefully his younger self would be able to understand what he had done wrong. Because if he didn't...what would the future hold? Ford found himself wondering if he even wanted to go back to the future. Not if Stan hated him. He wouldn't be able to handle that.

Once more, Stan had a difficult fight, and barely won. He stumbled out of the ring, and Ford went to help him out. 

“Come on, let's get you home, get you fixed up,” Ford said, putting Stan's arm around him once he had collected his winnings.

“HEY!” a voice called out. They turned, and saw a man approaching them. He had chestnut brown skin, black hair, and well kept beard. He was on the shorter side and a bit pudgy, and looked determined to speak with them.

“Yes?” Ford asked.

“No not you,” the man said, shaking his head. “Him.”

Stan managed to stand up straight, and looked at him. “Wassup?” he asked.

“My name is Davíd. Johnny sent me here to see you, to see if you are any good.”

“You're the coach?” Stan asked curiously.

“Yes,” Davíd said. “I think you have talent, and I want to be your coach.”

“Really?” Stan said excitedly.

“Yes,” Davíd said. “I usually don't come looking for talent in these shit hole fights,” Davíd said, sounding disgusted, “But I listen to Johnny. Johnny knows what he's talking about. Glass Shard Beach is not great for true boxing, but in the next town over, in Southpaw, that's where I work. And there are competitions there. Come to my gym,” he said, handing over a business card. “And we'll work to make sure you go places.”

Stan nodded, and Ford pulled him away. “Southpaw isn't that far!” Stan said excitedly, looking at the card.

“Are you really going to do it?” Ford asked.

“Hell yeah!” Stan said. “You should be excited! This'll be way safer.”

“True. It's just...would you have to move?”

“It's not that far away,” Stan said, shaking his head. “And it's not like I got anything going on.”

“Well how will you pay for these lessons?” Ford asked. Stan looked up at him with big eyes, and Ford sighed.

“Fine. I'll pay.”

“Yes!” Stan said, punching the air. Ford shook his head. 

“You'd better go to the gym _every day_ ,” Ford said. “I expect big things from you if I'm footing the bill.”

“You won't be disappointed.” Stan said with a grin. “I'm gonna show ALL of them that Stanley Pines is good for somethin'!”


	7. Chapter 7

“You know,” Stan said, cracking an egg into the hot skillet, “Ma said she'd be at my matches.” It was a beautiful Saturday morning, and Stan had offered to make breakfast.

Ford looked over at him from the coffee pot. “Well, she might be busy,” he said, carefully measuring out the grounds. “Or maybe she can't.”

“Think my Pops caught her out late?”

“That...that is possible,” Ford said, closing the lid to the coffee machine and pressing the on button. 

“Yeah. Probably thought she was out with someone else,” Stan said, picking up spatula and poking the eggs. Ford frowned at him.

“That is _not_ how you scramble eggs, Stanley.” Ford said, approaching him. Stan glared at him.

“Well how do you do it, smart guy?”

“You whip them first,” Ford said, watching Stan stir the eggs. “Then you add milk, whip them more, and _then_ you put it into the pan. Your eggs won't be fluffy and light this way.”

“Oh whatever. You can make 'em next time.”

“No, next time I will teach you how to properly cook. I'll show you how to make drip coffee as well.”

“I can make coffee!”

“Then you will walk me through it tomorrow.”

Stan sighed. “You're not my Ma. You don't gotta show me how ta cook.”

“Did she show you how to cook?” Ford asked, pulling out two mugs. 

“Some things,” Stan said. “She taught me how to make lasagna.”

“Well you'll have to make it for me sometime.”

There was a pause where Stan put some eggs on a plate, and popped some bread into the toaster. Toast was Ford's go-to breakfast item, so Stan wanted to make sure he got some.

“You're awfully quiet,” Ford said, accepting a plate of so-so eggs.

“I miss home,” Stan finally said. Ford could feel his heart breaking as he took a bite of his eggs.

“What do you miss about it?” Ford asked curiously.

“I miss my Ma,” Stan said truthfully. “I miss...I miss Ford.”

Ford nodded. “I'm sure you do,” he said. “Though you _did_ say he was mean to you.”

“Yeah but there were good times too,” Stan said, picking up his fork. “We'd go to the beach, work on the Stan-O-War. Wanna know why it's called the Stan-O-War?”

Ford caught himself before saying 'Oh I know why it's called that.' 

“Of course,” he said.

“Okay. See, at first I wanted it to be a pirate ship, and Ford thought that would be cool. I wanted a scary name, but I couldn't think of nothin'. So one day, Ford was reading one of his nerd books and let out the loudest gasp I've ever heard. He got into my bunk and showed me a picture of a fuckin' jellyfish and said 'This'll be our boat!' O' course, I was like...'what?' But then he told me that it was a really deadly and scary one called the Portuguese Man-O-War. And he was like, 'we could call our ship the Stan-O-War!' I remember thinkin' that was cool too, so we went with that.”

“What a clever idea,” Ford said. He remembered how excited he was to have come across it, and how he desperately had hoped that Stan would like it too.

“Yeah. Ford is always fulla good ideas,” Stan said. The toast popped, and Stan went to retrieve it.

“Always?” Ford asked as Stan handed him a piece of toast.

“Yeah.”

“I don't agree with that assessment.”

“What?” Stan said, surprised. “You...you don't even know him. You've fucked him, but you don't know him.”

“Ah...well. Maybe not,” Ford said. “But I know what you've said about him. And his thoughts about you are incorrect. You have worth. You will go places.”

“Shut up,” Stan said, turning away and blushing.

“I will not,” Ford said. “You need to understand that you are not a lost cause. I know you still think you are.”

Stan sighed. “I'm not good at--”

“You're good at boxing,” Ford interrupted. “You had someone...what's the term...scout you. He wants to coach you, to make you even better. That is a compliment. That is someone acknowledging your worth.”

“Whatever,” Stan said, still pink in the face. 

“Are you going in today?” Ford asked, buttering his toast. Stan looked thoughtful.

“I dunno if they're open on weekends,” he finally said. “I don't really want to drive all the way out there and find out they're closed.”

“I shall take a sick day on Monday then,” Ford said. Stan looked confused.

“Why?”

“I wish to see this place you're going to. Make sure it's not...sketchy, as you would say.”

“Oh my _God,_ ” Stan said, rolling his eyes. “You're not my parent, thank Christ. You don't gotta do this.”

“But I want to,” Ford said earnestly. “I want to make sure it's okay. I want to know exactly what it is I'm paying for.”

Stan grunted. “You really don't need ta.”

“Stanley, this isn't even a conversation. I'm going.”

“Alright fine!” Stan said, frustrated. “You can come.”

“Is there some reason you _don't_ want me to come?” Ford asked, looking worried.

“No. It's just...I don't need a chaperone or whatever anymore. I'm 18.”

“I am aware,” Ford said. “But as I'm paying for your lessons, I would like to make sure the place is safe, and to offically meet David.”

“'Snot his name,” Stan said.

“Excuse me?”

“It's Dah-vEED.”

“Does it matter?” Ford said, irritated.

“Yes!” Stan said angrily. “Look, my Ma's first name isn't Gina.”

_That's right_

_She changed it_

“Oh?” Ford said.

“Yeah, her first name is really Chiara. But instead of kee-ara, people said chee-ara. She started goin' by her middle name instead because it pissed her off so bad. So I'm big on sayin' people's names right.”

“I see,” Ford said, kicking himself. How could he forget that? It had never really seemed that important to him. But clearly Stan felt differently.

“So...what is the origin of Chiara?” Ford asked, already knowing the answer.

“Italian,” Stan said. “My grandma is from Italy, but nobody believed her,” he said with a chuckle.

“Oh really?” Ford pried, once more asking questions he already knew the answer to.

“Yeah,” Stan said. “She was platinum blonde, but everyone assumed Italians are all dark haired. Her last name is Bianchi. And Bianchi is a name that a long time ago was given to light haired people. My grandpa wasn't Italian, but my grandma really wanted to give her kids Italian names so he went with it.”

“I take it your mother didn't particularly care about that?”

“Actually, she wanted to give me the middle name of Enzo for _her_ grandpa,” he said. “But my dad said no.”

Ford blinked. That was something he didn't know. He wondered why nobody had told him that.

“And...and she was fine with that?”

“I guess,” Stan said shrugging. “She didn't tell me if they argued or not and I never asked. I just wanted to know why me and my brother had the same middle name.”

“Hm. I suppose that is odd.” Another thing he had never really cared about. “Do you want children?”

“Yeah,” Stan said happily.

Once more, Ford could feel his heart breaking. Parenthood would never be something Stan would experience. However, he had messed with the timeline so much that maybe...maybe Stan would have his happy ending.

“You would have to end up with a woman,” Ford said. “Or I suppose you could try adopting.”

“You and I can adopt,” Stan said. Ford choked on his toast.

“What?”

“You and I can adopt,” Stan said again. “Since we'll be together and all.”

“St-stanley, I...I don't think it would be best for you to attempt to spend most of your life with me,” Ford said. “You will need to find someone more suited to you.”

_I want to go home too_

“Why not?” Stan asked. “You sayin' we're gonna break up?”

“Well...” Ford said. Stan frowned.

“If you're planning on breaking up with me, why don't you just do it now?”

“Stanley!” Ford said, shocked. “I'm not saying I'm going to leave you! I'm saying--”

“You're saying I'm gonna leave you,” Stan said. “That's not happening.”

Ford sighed deeply. “Are you _sure_ you want to be with _me?_ ”

“Of course!” Stan said happily. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Ford said, heart heavy. And for the millionth time, he asked himself, what had he done? Stan was not supposed to fall in love with him, and most definitely was not supposed to want to stay with him forever.


End file.
